The House That Jack Built
by lookskindagreyout
Summary: A weekend getaway leads to deeper, more terrifying insights, for Olivia, Peter, and Walter- the newest visitors, in Silent Hill.
1. Chapter 1

A special thanks to Lolita Tides, who provided much of the research for this fic, and to White Rook, for the soundtrack. Here is our strange and disturbing crossover offspring! ^__^

_* I do not own Fringe, nor the Silent Hill franchise- and both could totally kick my a~~._

Chapter one.

"_I've got a little place that you can use- out in Virginia? You'd like it out there, it's by a lake. It might give you a chance to get your mind off of things, with all of the terrible things that have been happening._

_ "Go out to my cabin- it's a place called Toulca Lake."_

How Olivia wished that something so simple were true.

She wished a lot of things, really; that she hadn't seen the things she had, didn't know the things she knew, hadn't done the things she'd done. With her life compiled around her, like the many files that cluttered her bed when she fell asleep at night, she felt like she was drowning.

"Walter, I need to ask you a question," she said as she was stripping off her coat and scarf at the lab door, doffing them onto the already full coat rack.

"And what question might that be, agent Dunham?" Walter had questioned in reply, his voice slightly monotone with concentration as he peered intently into a microscope, unseeingly jotting down his observations with a stray hand.

"Can you take my brain out and put it into a jar for a little while?"

Dr. Walter Bishop stilled in his motions, slowly lifting his head to look up at her quizzically, "I suppose," he said, after a few moments of deep contemplation, "if I had the proper equipment and environment, I could give it a go…"

"She was joking, Walter," Peter Bishop explained, patting him on the shoulder as he passed, "don't worry your pretty head about it. So," he redirected his attention to Olivia with a quick smile, "what's going on? Anything new?"

Olivia shook her head as she descended the steps to the cement slab of the operating theater, "No." She watched Walter return to his work, crossing her arms across her chest, "It's… bizarre. Nothing has been happening- no new cases, no new leads-"

"No seismic activity?" Walter questioned, switching the magnification on his microscope.

"No," Olivia responded, arching a brow.

"That is strange," Walter mused.

"Yeah, because Manhattan has tremors _all the time_," Peter joked.

"It's like everything just… stopped," Olivia said.

"I think the term 'amassing' will fit more to your liking," Walter corrected, straightening and pushing his hands into the pockets of his lab coat, "a calm before the storm, if you would."

"Walter," what are you talking about?" Peter demanded flatly.

Walter gave them an uneasy smile, "I really don't know."

"You _never_ really know," Peter grumbled.

Olivia let out a sigh, pulling them back to the subject at hand, "I don't know what we're supposed to do. I don't know what _I'm_ supposed to do. It's driving me crazy."

Peter put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly, "I think it's driving us all crazy, battering around here. Waiting."

"Like crows," Walter added mournfully.

Olivia couldn't help but halfway understand his strange comparison.

"Hey, do you know a place called Toulca Lake?" she found herself asking, and Peter raised his brows.

"Up near DC?"

"Virginia."

"No, sorry. I haven't spent much time, in corn country- not a lot to do, there. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Olivia shrugged. She set to musing with the pens in a mug on a nearby desktop, "I hear it's quiet, out there."

"Uh-huh," Peter said, waiting for her to get to the point.

"Toulca Lake has some cabins," Olivia explained, at last deciding to bare her plan, "It's really weird, but… I was thinking of spending the weekend out there. To clear my head."

Peter arched a brow.

"Well, I can't stay out there all by myself. Rach has got to stay to work out Ella's school arrangements. So, I was wondering if maybe you'd like to come with me."

"We're going to a lake?!" Walter exclaimed excitedly.

xXx

The self invitation did not go unnoticed, but Olivia didn't think she had the heart to exclude Walter from what was turning out to be a weekend stay, at the Toulca Lake cabin. Peter had offered to tell him down, but Olivia had refused- Walter, however difficult and infuriatingly cryptic as he could be, at times, was, she was surprised to admit, her friend. And she had depressingly few, at the moment.

Rachel had convinced her that she needed the time away, admitting that she was jealous, of her time apart. But she seemed concerned, when Olivia mentioned that she had invited Peter and Walter, "I thought you were getting _away_ from work," She had frowned, "I mean, Peter's an all right guy, I'd take him away on a weekend trip… but that old guy is _weird_."

Olivia had been unable to keep herself from laughing into her pasta, snorting sauce.

There had been a series of lyrical beeps of a car horn, that following Friday morning, announcing the arrival of the Bishops in their old and rather rusted Vista Cruiser. Peter had met her at the door, accepting her bags with a bright smile. Rachel, however, gave him a long, hard look, at last glancing over his shoulder to where Walter sat in the car, messing with the radio, "Take care of her," she had told Peter at length.

"Will do," he assured her with a nod. Rachel looked serious, and at last shook her head, turning to Olivia.

"You be safe, okay?"

Olivia smiled at her, "I will."

"Peter!" Walter called from the car, "I get to drive, yes?"

xXx


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two.

"You see, this is exactly why _I_ should have driven," Walter complained, "You've parked us in a puddle, boy!"

Olivia looked down at the puddle that encompassed the off driver's side of the car, and she frowned fondly, "it is pretty wet over here, Peter."

"Well, if I could get a word in edgewise, I'll back the car out and- Walter!" Peter snapped, as his father plunged into the muddy, ankle-deep water.

Walter grimaced unpleasantly, looking down at his situation, "Well, there's nothing to it, now…" He approached Olivia's door, holding his arms open, "come on."

"What?" Olivia questioned, then laughed, "Walter, no, I can't-"

"Come on, now," Walter smirked, and gathered her up from her seat, despite her protests, and lifted her up, sloshing his way across the puddle and setting her on her feet on dry land, "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Thanks, Walter," Olivia smiled, striking a stray lock of hair from her eyes.

"Walter, help me with the bags in the back," Peter said, coming around the side of the car as he pulled on a pair of gloves.

"But my feet are wet!" Walter whined.

"That's because you jumped in a puddle!" Peter exclaimed, "idiocy doesn't get you out of chores, now come on."

Olivia turned to look up at the remote cabin, as Walter grumbled his protests and followed after his son. She inhaled the fresh air with a smile, then delved into her pocket for a folded piece of paper with a number written on it, "Peter, I'm going to go and open the place up, okay?"

"Okay," Peter replied, "Walter and I will be up in a few minutes to light up the radiator- I want to get it warm before the rain hits." Already, the sky was overcast and a ground fog was beginning to rise, in the dark woods around them.

"I see I'm being volunteered for everything, these days," Walter grumped.

Olivia left the two to their devices, and began her trek up the dirt path and to the wooden steps, touching the hand rail lightly as she climbed her way to the wide porch.

Movement caught her eye, and she paused from dialing in the security code to look out, over the dark, choppy water. Fog restricted her vision, and the lake seemed endless, the murky silhouettes of the trees along the shore fading and obscuring into the grey. But there had been something on the lake, she was sure of it…

"Olivia?" Peter called, making her start slightly. He smiled reassuringly as he plodded his way up the stairs, Walter trailing behind him, "Are you all right?"

"Hmm? Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," Olivia replied, shaking her head, "I just thought I saw something out there."

"Like a boat?" Peter questioned, arching a brow.

"Nessy!" Walter chimed in, dropping the bags and racing to the railing to squint out, over the water.

"Walter, you're going to break things!" Peter snapped, stooping to gather the bags himself, "Now come on, there's still some stuff to do, before you can get back to… whatever it is you do." and Olivia chuckled, taking a few of the bags from him.

"Shun the non-believer. We'll go Nessy-hunting later," Walter whispered to Olivia with a wink, and Peter rolled his eyes.

"So, there's supposed to be a town or something, around here," Olivia said as she pushed open the sliding-glass door to let them inside, "So I guess we could go and get some supplies, after we get settled in."

xXx

Olivia had at last finished removing the dust-covers from the furniture when she heard the furnace churn to life and she gave a small cheer. She met Peter as he came up the stairs from the basement, "Hot water in no time," he assured her brightly.

"A hot shower sounds amazing," Olivia conceded, leading him down the hall, "I've got all the beds made up, are you sure you don't mind sharing a room with Walter?"

"No, ma'am. If he gets too bad I'll hit the couch. I hope it doesn't rain all weekend, I brought my pole and tackle and wanted to take a crack at some of those bass."

"You catch it, you clean it," Olivia replied with a smile. She looked around quizzically, "Where is Walter?"

Peter paused, looking around the vacant cabin as they listened for movement, "I don't know. He must have gone to have a look at the dock or something. I'll get him-" but Olivia stopped him with a palm to the chest.

"No, I'll do it. All you've been doing is working, since you got here. Sit down, I'll go get Walter and we can have a cup of coffee."

"But I still need to drive down and get supplies-"

"We'll do it tomorrow. We can get by, stop worrying." Peter gave her a grateful smile, and retreated into the living room.

Olivia was pulling her coat onto her shoulders as she descended the steps to the path, her breath joining the damp fog, a still silence muting even her movements, "Walter?" she called, without an answer.

She crept along the side of the cabin, past the tall support beams that held the porch aloof. In the moist air, they were as dark as the trees, distinctive lines that seemed to separate the cabin from the steel-grey gravel of the lake shore. Olivia surmised that the cabin had been built to withstand any rising and falling that Lake Toulca might experience in flood or drought.

It seemed that the lake was down, as of late.

Olivia ventured along the water's edge, the faint slap of miniature waves barely audible over her own, soft breath, as she skittered among the round stones and pebbles, calling again, "Walter!"

A sturdy, but old, wooden pier stretched out from dry land and across the surface of the water, coupled with a square boathouse and slimy bits of rope that draped from it to touch the water. Olivia trudged her way back up the shore, gripping the handrail as she pushed her way up, onto the dock, spotting Walter's still form standing at the dock edge, seeming intent in his watching of the tide. "Walter?" Olivia questioned, approaching him cautiously, "Walter, it's getting dark, you need to come back inside."

He did not move, his hands deep in the pockets of his overcoat as he appeared transfixed. Her brows furrowing with concern, Olivia raised a hand to touch his shoulder, "Walter?"

His sudden turn made her start, and she let out a small laugh, "Walter! What are you doing? Don't freak me out like that."

"I've just remembered that I don't like lakes," he said quietly. He looked back at the water, his face creasing with unpleasant thought, and he shook his head, "I don't. The water… it talks." And he brushed past her, toward the shore, "Come along, then."

Olivia arched a brow flatly, "Okay," she responded. She paused as he continued on his way without her, then craned her head to look down at the water, where Walter had been staring. A tiny, grey flake flittered down to land on the surface, before the water soaked in and swallowed it into the depths, washing it out of view.

It wasn't cold enough for snow.

xXx


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three.

The morning smelled faintly of laundry detergent and skin, and there was the soft feel of cotton against her cheek, her arms and legs comfortably entwined with someone warm. The feeling was pleasant, however strange, Olivia slightly disoriented as she blinked awake, her slurred thoughts slowly returning to her, and she warmed her nose in the white tee shirt before her, sighing quietly.

A hand gently stroked her cheek, and she smiled, her murmuring muffled, "'Morning."

"'Morning," Walter managed distantly, giving a sigh as he tugged the blanket up around them.

Her eyes sprang open in realization, and she immediately distanced herself from him, "Walter, what are you doing?!" she exclaimed.

He did not reply, snoozing quietly and unheeding of her distress. Olivia took a moment to gather her composure, her memory returning of the night before, and she swallowed, flushing slightly. Awkward and embarrassing, to say the least.

Olivia kicked the blankets away, her feet finding the cool wood floor as she pulled open the door, making her way down the hall and to Peter's door. She raised her hand to knock twice, and waited only a few moments before he appeared in the doorway, his dark hair a spiky mess and a slight look of worry on his face, "Olivia! Listen, have you see Walter? I thought he got up for a snack last night, but I don't remember him coming back to bed…" He faltered as Olivia was shaking her head with a smile, "What? What did he do?"

He followed her beckoning back to her room, and frowned as he looked at his fathers' curled form on the bed, "Oh."

"It's not what it looks like, I just woke up, and he was in here," Olivia began to explain.

"Nah, I get it. Don't worry, he does it a lot. Walter likes sleeping with people- although, not in the text that the term would commonly be used. He crawls into bed with me all the time…" he leaned over the mattress, shaking Walter's shoulder, "Yo, Walter! Up and at 'em," her said, and gave Olivia a small smile, "sorry, it's a little creepy, I know."

Walter gave a grumble and slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes groggily, "'Morning, son," he muttered, his voice deep and raspy from his slumber. His eyes slowly roamed the room, and came to rest on Olivia, "Oh. Good morning, agent Dunham. Excuse me," and he climbed out of bed, scratching his stomach dimly as he headed for the bathroom, coughing and wiping his lips on his forearm.

Peter laughed softly, ignoring his father as he addressed Olivia, "Come on, throw on some pants and meet me in the kitchen for coffee, would you?"

"Yeah, sure…" Olivia said, shaking her head slightly, mainly to cool her face, "It's weird," she conceded as Peter was passing her in the doorway.

"Hah. Yeah. Sorry, He didn't mean anything by it. He can be a bit of an idiot, sometimes."

"Peter!" came Walter's call from the bathroom, "Where's my toothbrush?!"

"Back in _our room_, Walter!" Peter called back. He gave Olivia a wink, "good luck," and shut the door.

"Then where the hell am I?!" Walter continued, even after his son had gone. Olivia retrieved a pair of jeans from the dresser and brushed her hair out of her eyes with a sigh, rising and going to the bathroom door, where Walter was rummaging in the empty medicine cabinet. He pulled up Olivia's toothbrush, "Who's is this?" he questioned.

"Mine," Olivia replied immediately, reaching over his shoulder to take it from him.

"May I use it?" Walter asked.

"No!" Olivia exclaimed, "Gross!"

Walter shrugged, "But where else am I to get a toothbrush?"

"Go to _your _room and get _your _toothbrush!"

Walter rolled his eyes with a sigh, "_Fine_," and tramped off, scratching his bed-head and grumbling as he shut the door behind himself. Olivia shook her head with a small smile, and started the shower.

It was an easing feeling to have hot water against her skin, and she sighed out her nights' frustration as she turned her face up toward the shower, the sticky feeling of dried tears erased from her features.

She'd been having the nightmares for weeks, now- she had always thought it just came with the job, and the job was finally catching up with her. They were never the same, they never made sense, and, for the most part, all it took to calm her nerves was a good, strong drink. But last night, with the sounds of the wind and the rain and the strangely audible lake, her dreams had taken an even worse turn- scenes and depictions of faces and places she'd never seen, all of them terrible… she hadn't been able to tell if the screaming was in her mind, or her lungs…

It was embarrassing enough to have a nightmare that stupid in the first place, but to have Walter stumble across her distress, of all people? She didn't know if she should thank him, or hope he simply forgot the entire affair.

"I'm back-" the door banged open, and Olivia gave a short cry as she grabbed the curtain to yank it around herself.

"_Walter_!" She demanded shrilly.

"What?! It's _my_ toothbrush!" he answered defensively.

xXx

"Toulca Lake, Walter. Not Toucan, Not Tesla. _Toulca._"

"Don't deride me, damn it. I only wanted to know what we were looking for," Walter and Peter hunched over the small pile of maps at the kitchen table, sifting through them in search of their location, "It's a funny name, anyone could forget it…"

Olivia smirked as she draped a towel around her neck, tousling the damp ends of her hair, "What's going on?"

"I'd have more luck looking for a treasure map," Walter grumbled, still rustling through the wealth of folded land records, and Peter ignored him as he turned in his seat to answer Olivia.

"I found some old maps, in the top of the closet when I was looking for Walter, this morning. I thought they might have something cool that we could look for, when we make the trip in for supplies, today."

Olivia looked thoughtful, as she took a seat at the table, pulling over a few maps of her own, "Sounds good. It looks like the rain cleared up, though- we could go out on the lake, if you can figure out how to make the boat work."

"They're called _oars_," Peter joked, and she struck his shoulder as he chuckled.

"I used to be on the rowing team, at Oxford," Walter said pridefully, as he was tracing his finger along the line of a highway, "Champions of seventy-two, we were. It was a good year." He paused, seeming to concentrate, "I think. Or, was it seventy-one? And I may have been in the chess club, now that I remember…"

"Hey, look at this," Olivia said, frowning with slight confusion, "This place-" She indicated with her fingertip on the old, fragile paper "there's Shepherd's glen, the dock down there is closed off, something about contamination, but over here…" Peter picked up the map in his own curiosity, "That place should be right across the lake, from us."

"Silent Hill?" Peter mused, "I didn't see this, on any of the other maps. Is it on yours, Walter?"

"Is it in Milwaukee? I think I've got Milwaukee." Peter frowned at him, snatching the map out of his hands.

"See, it isn't. That's weird. Why wouldn't it be here?"

"Here it is again, on this one," Olivia handed over another map for comparison, "directly across the lake. It looks like a fairly large town, but I've never heard of it."

"Probably because it's boring," Walter assured her, "about as boring as Milwaukee, I suppose."

Olivia shook her head, her fingertip circling the S in the name as she bit the inside of her cheek. "Do you want to go check it out?" Peter asked at last.

"They might have a town store, there," Olivia reasoned, but she knew that her interest was of a different kind. Something about the name that struck her, and she mouthed it quietly to herself when Peter and Walter had returned to their own musings., "Let me get a cup of coffee, and we'll head out," she said, leaving the map on the table.

xXx


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four

The road to the one, singular truck stop had been washed out, in the night's passing rain, "Maybe it was worse than we thought," Peter contested, as he surveyed the damage.

"It didn't sound that bad," Olivia said, scratching her head as she surveyed how wide the washed-out chunk of dirt road was, "But I guess it doesn't matter. I'm sure they'll have someone out to fix it soon enough."

"Walter, stay away from there," Peter warned his father, as he strayed close to the edge of the ravine to look down, "Maybe there's a shop in that Silent Hill place."

"I hope so," Olivia sighed, setting her hands on her hips, still bewildered at what seemed like damage to the road far too extensive to have been caused by the night's rain. She shook her head again with disbelief.

"It looks like someone stole the culvert," Walter mused, mostly to himself as he kicked a clod of dirt over the edge, and it slapped the sandy mud below dully.

Olivia glanced at him, then to Peter, who was already climbing back into the Station Wagon. With a final look at the wash out herself, she retuned to the car, calling, "Come on, Walter."

"_Sabotage_," Walter whispered, and followed after her.

"And, in any case," Peter continued as he started the car, grinding the gearshift into reverse, "We can make some new friends, I guess."

"All I want to make are some s'mores," Olivia said, "You know, with the graham crackers and the marshmallows. I used to have them when I went to girl scout camp, I haven't had them in ages."

Peter nodded, "Sounds good, especially with the fireplace, we could have them tonight. What about you, Walter?" Peter questioned, glancing in to the rearview mirror at his silent father, whom was gazing quietly out the window, as if in deep thought, "What do you want?"

"A piece of ass," Walter replied casually.

Peter and Olivia both looked taken aback, and Walter grinned, flushing slightly, pleased, "Bacon, get it? Bacon. From the hind-end of a pig. The ass."

"Yes, Walter, we get it," Peter frowned, returning his eyes to the road, "Remind me not to ask him again, will you?" and Olivia grinned, shaking her head, "Damn," Peter suddenly exclaimed, "What's with all this fog?"

Olivia looked up, at the changed lighting of her surroundings, the interior of the car dim. Thick fog was interrupted only by the lines of passing tree trunks, and the yellow dashes of the highway only a few yards in front of the car.

"Ground fog isn't uncommon in this part of the country," Olivia reasoned, "especially after a passing rain. There must have been a lot more rainfall than we though, to wash out the road and for something this thick…" But still, a feeling of unease swept over her, and she swallowed.

The car suddenly gave a shudder, the engine beginning to wind up and the trees pass more quickly, "Peter, why are we accelerating?!" Walter demanded, fear peaking his voice.

"I don't know!" Peter retorted, removing his foot from the gas petal entirely, "the gas line must be screwed up!" he pushed on the break as the needle of the speedometer passed 100, "God damn it, it's not stopping! What the hell?!"

"Peter, we have to stop," Olivia warned, "There's a bridge-" and as she looked up, there was a chain-link gate before them, and they gave a cry. Sparks flashed off the hood, and the Station wagon jolted, the tires screeching shrilly and the smell of burning rubber filling the air. The engine sputtered and backfired before dying, clouds of stream wafting from under the hood. A hubcap rolled on ahead of them.

Walter released the emergency break from over the driver's seat, giving a sigh as he sat back heavily, "Quite the adventure," he mused wryly.

"Peter, what in the hell was that?" Olivia asked, as he was kicking open the driver's door, and her hands were shaking as she scrambled to unlock the door and follow after him.

Peter was stooping to look under the wheel wells, shaking his head, "I think something got lodged up under there, and screwed it up."

"I didn't feel anything," Olivia said, but her comments were hesitant as she saw the look of angry confusion forming on his face, "Do you think it was messed up when we were parked?"

"Maybe," Peter replied gruffly, as he was hoisting open the hood. He coughed slightly and waved the steam and smoke away, the sweet smell of antifreeze cutting through the burnt rubber and oil, "Damn. This thing is totally shot."

"What did you do to my baby?!" Walter demanded, slamming his door as he emerged from the car. His jaw dropped as he surveyed the steaming, smoking damage, "Peter, what did you _do_?!" his hands jumbled over the grill, and he burned his fingers, "What did it ever do to you?! It's a family man car!"

"Walter, calm down," Peter growled, rolling his eyes, "It's nothing we can't fix…"

"I'll call a tow truck," Olivia reasoned, but regretted her words, as she drew out her cell phone, "Crap. No service."

"Listen, you guys stay here, and I'll walk back-" Peter started, before a pause. Olivia followed his eyes, to the faded, painted wooden sign:

WELCOME TO SILENT HILL

"Lucky," Walter chirruped.

xXx


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five

"You two stay here- I'll walk in to town and see if I can't get a tow truck to come down and pull this mess in-"

"This 'mess' used to be my functioning vehicle," Walter replied gruffly, glaring at his son bitterly.

"Walter, it was an accident. Now, if I can get it to a gas station or something, I can call up the rental place and get them to send out something temporary," Peter continued to ignore his father as he checked his cell phone for the time. He looked up at the hazy fog around them, then shook his head, "It should only be an hour, at the most."

"Peter, this thing isn't going anywhere," Olivia said, "Why don't we head in with you? The sign says it's a mile and a half, it shouldn't be any trouble…" But Peter was shaking his head.

"I've got this. Besides, if it's…" Peter glanced over at his father, whom was still fretting over the station wagon, the steaming and smoking seeming to abate slightly, "If something is going on, I don't want to leave the car unguarded. I don't want to sound paranoid, but that brake wouldn't quit on it's own. It's probably nothing, but-"

"Okay," Olivia said with a quick smile. She could see the frustration and worry forming on his face, and she eased him with a touch to the shoulder, "I'll stay here with Walter. Just be safe, okay?"

Peter chuckled, "Sure. Do you need me to bring you anything?"

"No, thanks." Olivia paused, "…wait." A smile crept onto her face, "A popsicle?"

"Orange fifty-fifty?" Peter guessed, and Olivia chuckled, nodding, "Will do. Walter!" He called to his father, and Walter pulled his head out from under the hood, "I'm heading in. 'Need anything?"

"Butterfinger. No, those stick to my molars," Walter illustrated by poking his finger in his mouth to the back of his teeth, "perhaps…" Walter looked thoughtful, then, inexplicably perplexed, "I don't think I want anything, son." The concept seemed shockingly new, and he shook his head, returning to rummaging around under the hood.

Peter shrugged, "Whatever. I'll be back soon," He assured Olivia, and set off down the middle of the empty highway at a brisk pace. Very soon, the grey of the fog had made him transparent, then, at last, he vanished.

xXx

Olivia woke from her dazed, draining cat-napping as something touched her shoulder, and she started slightly, as Walter was poking her with a long piece of metal pipe through the open window, "What, Walter?" she questioned, rubbing the drowse from her eyes and sitting up straight.

"I found it lodged in the linkage," Walter replied gruffly, twiddling the pipe back and fourth, "I don't recall wedging it in there, do you?"

"Walter, we could have run it over," Olivia rationalized with a sigh, stretching in her seat, "It's not a big deal, I promise we'll get it fixed."

"I've already fixed it," Walter replied, "We've only stalled the engine is all. Now, the breaks might be a little iffy, we needed a break change anyways, but she should start." Walter looked slightly smug with himself, as he wiped his hands on his removed overshirt, like a grizzled, old mechanic, before tossing it into the back seat.

Olivia raised her brows in surprise, "Great work, Walter. I guess we can meet Peter-" she trailed off, as she was looking down at her watch, "how long has he been gone?"

"Long enough for me to get bored and start fixing things," Walter responded, leaning his elbows on the windowsill to peer inside. Olivia shifted away from him uncomfortably.

"Come on, Walter, get in. We'll head into town and pick him up." She was relieved as Walter shrugged, slipping away from the door and slinking around the car. Olivia sighed, rummaging around in the bench seat for her lap belt before movement in the fog caught her eye, "Peter...?" Slowly, her brows furrowed with concern, as the silhouette in the mist appeared to be limping, and Olivia climbed from the driver's seat, shutting the door behind herself.

The form paused, at the noise, as if listening. "Peter?" Olivia called. The limping was fervid, ambling rapidly toward her call, with long, dangerously careening steps, and Olivia's eyes rounded as she realized that it _wasn't_ Peter.

The noise of rattling breath emerged from a sucking chest wound, and Olivia stepped back slightly as she smelled harsh smoke, like hair burning. The closer the form got, the clearer the details became, of something that could only be a nightmare- the creature was a torso on thin, spidery legs, the arms and head appearing to have been melted mostly away, burning embers clinging to scorched, black flesh. A low moan emerged from somewhere, as it ambled forward, misbalanced steps scratching the pavement. Olivia only managed to gape in horror, as red-veined, grey lungs pulsed outward from an exposed ribcage with a sound similar to that of a bullfrog, as the creature sucked in air. The spine snapped back, as it finished a breath, and opened its mouth wide, far wider than it should have been, beginning to exhale a foul, acrid gas of ash and smoke.

Olivia immediately retracted, contorting with a violent coughing fit as her eyes stung, and she stumbled back, gasping for air and finding only smoke. She waved her hands in the hopes of clearing it away, choking and trying to keep her eyes open as the thing bared down on her again.

There was the sound of a guttural crunch, as metal met muscle and broke bone, and the thing stumbled aside, torso twisting wildly as it struggled for balance. It landed on its side, legs flailing, as Walter brought the pipe down again, puncturing the fleshy, exposed lungs and spattering black , sticky goo, "Blunt-force trauma, bitch! Take that to the cerebellum and smoke it!" he raised the pipe over his head again, teeth barred, and cracked the creature's skull. It only twitched and stirred, then grew still.

Olivia regained her senses as she rubbed tears from her eyes, clearing her throat and panting for breath. She rubbed a spot of saliva from the corner of her mouth, and carefully approached the creature, as Walter watched over it suspiciously, "Walter," she questioned raspily, "What the hell is that?"

Walter shook his head, lowering the pipe to his side, "I don't know, agent Dunham. But what I wouldn't give, to get it back to the lab."

Olivia glanced up again, at more movement in the fog, "We have to get out of here. Now." Walter looked up at the shifting figures around them, his eyes rounding with fear as he lifted his pipe, gripping it tightly, "Come on!" Olivia said, and they started for the car.

Olivia slammed the door and locked it, her hand first finding her pistol and placing it on her hip, then moving to the keys in the ignition, the rabbit's foot keychain jingling as she twisted, the starter grinding, "Easy!" Walter exclaimed, "She's an old gal, she'll need some care, after a disaster like that!"

"Come on!" Olivia growled through her teeth, pumping the gas, "Come on!"

They gave a simultaneous cry as something slammed the side of the car, rocking it wildly. There was a crash as the window shattered, and Olivia began to cough into her sleeve as more foul-smelling smoke was blasted into the car. She looked up from her task as Walter gave a strangled yelp, black arms snaking through the broken window to grip him, pulling him out of his seat.

"Walter!" Olivia coughed, lifting her pistol. Her airway was suddenly constricted as a hand clamped over her mouth, moaning and rattling breath filling her ears as she felt herself being pulled out of the car. Her watering eyes caught only glimpses of dark, flailing limbs, before her lungs gave, and her vision began to fade.

xXx

The smell of ash was the first thing she came to recall. It was chalky, underneath her fingers, and clung to the sweat on her neck as she lifted her bruised cheek away from the rough cement. She blinked flakes of grey away from her eyelashes as she pulled herself up from her chest-down position in the middle of the vacant street.

First, confusion overwhelmed her, as she stared around at the rusted street sign on the sidewalk across from her, then at the boarded windows of the vacant shop fronts behind it. Then panic prickled across her skin, and Olivia climbed to her feet, dusting away the falling flakes, "Walter?!" She called, turning to look in every direction, "Walter?!"

Nothing moved but the dry snowfall of ash, in the air. Olivia coughed softly, her lungs and throat feeling raw, and searched for the gun at her hip. Her holster was empty.

Her boots scuffed the pavement as she took her first few steps in one direction, then another. The town around her seemed to be steeped in ancient chaos- a fire truck had wedged itself into a building nearby, glass and rust littering the sidewalk around an overturned dumpster. Cars had sat in the streets long enough to have their tires go flat, their colors indistinguishable under the grey. Bits of rusted barbed wire and scattered planks of wood cluttered the sidewalks, dotted every now and again with steaming sewer grates.

"Hello?" Olivia finally called, in the emptiness.

She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Her cell phone was in the car, and if she could drive out to place a call, she could contact Philip Broyles, to get some help… her feet were already taking her down the street, toward what she guessed was out of town.

She stumbled to a halt with a curse under her breath as she reached the end of the street. It simply stopped- like the other side of the street had been ripped away, into the mist, the power poles hanging over the edge supported only by old, frayed lines. Olivia looked back over her shoulder, glaring. Okay, so she would have to do this herself.

xXx


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six

She needed a plan. An order, to this chaotically bizarre situation she had been saddled with.

A rusted road sign told her that she was on a street called Bloch, and she began to walk into town, in the hopes that seeing something… she didn't know what… might trigger her mind back into drive, and inspiration might find her. Movement down a side alley made her start, and she quickly decided that she would need a weapon, as a piece of ratted plastic wrap settled back to the ashy pavement.

She returned to the useless fire truck and found an old fire axe. She wouldn't feel safe until she had a gun at her hip, but it would have to do for now.

Olivia could only read a handful of the shop signs, and took to peering through the dirty windows to find what was inside. A coffee shop, a dance studio… nothing that looked useful.

Olivia was feeling dizzy, and slowed her pace, trying to blink away a headache. She spotted a hardware store across the street, and decided to cross the vacant strip of road to get to the opposing sidewalk. She took a quick glance around herself, at her still surroundings, dusted ash from her hair, and set off at a jog. If anything, the mercantile store would provide her with a bludgeon of some kind, but if she was lucky, there could be any number of useful things. A flashlight, a map, _a gun and bullets_…

The door had been sealed from the inside- with a hammer and nails, she found out, as she bashed the ingress open with the axe. The instrument turned out to be far lighter and accurate than she had imagined, and she gripped it with a new confidence as she raised her foot to kick away the last splinters of the doorway, stepping over the threshold.

Ash stained the tattered, moth-eaten curtains that had been drawn across the boarded windows, and Olivia was straining her eyes to see in the nearly black lighting when there was a sudden flash to interrupt her vision, and she let out a cry, swinging at the source of the light with the axe.

"Whoa!" Someone exclaimed, as her weapon struck wall, "Olivia, calm down! It's me, it's Peter!" He lowered the flashlight, his face wary with fear, "Calm down, okay?"

"Peter," Olivia sighed, stepping forward to pry the axe out of the wall, plaster crumbling away from the hole, "Where the hell were you? Where the hell are we? What the hell is going-"

Peter raised a hand to silence her, and clicked the flashlight off as he watched out of the open doorway, "Sorry," he said lowly, "come on in, we've made enough noise, and I don't want to draw any unnecessary attention," he took her wrist, and quickly led her into the hardware store.

The shelves they passed were littered with disheveled cans of paint, rusted hammers, and other abandoned gardening tools. They slowed by the lawnmowers, Peter craning his neck to look over his shoulder at where they had just been. "okay," he sighed at last, and he motioned for her to sit as he flipped on the flashlight again, taking a seat himself.

"Peter," Olivia said, "what's going on?"

Peter frowned into the flashlight beam, "I don't know. I was only walking a little while, after I left you and Walter… I thought I saw someone walking toward me, so I tried to call them for help, but… that thing, it was… it wasn't a person, I don't know what it was…"

Olivia nodded, "I know, Peter. That thing, whatever it was, there were more of them, they pulled Walter and I out of the car, and the next thing I knew, I was here. I don't know where they took Walter, but the road is- well, it's _gone_, I don't know what happened to it…"

"I think _this _is Silent Hill," Peter said, "there's something going on, here, it's why it isn't in any of the other maps-" he was cut short as there was a metallic rattling noise, from one of the other aisles, and he immediately killed the flashlight.

They slowly rose to their feet, as the rattling sounded again, closer and followed by rattling breathing. Olivia touched Peter's shoulder, motioning to him to stand back-to-back. He nodded affirmatively, and they held their breaths in the dark.

"I think it's another one of those smoker bastards," Peter whispered.

"No," Olivia said, "It doesn't smell like one of them, it-" she bit back her words as a grinding scrape sounded at her end of the aisle, and something came into view.

At first, she thought it was a shadow, across the floor, dragging itself along. Until she saw the glint of the hooked claws, and the dark lines of barbed wire banding its naked body, fleshy and pink. It crawled forward, pulling itself with thin arms toward them. Olivia stepped back, her shoulders meeting Peter's , and he turned , alarmed.

The creature suddenly emitted a raptor-like call, slithering forward at a freakish rate to pounce, claws extended for Olivia's throat. Peter rammed her aside, gripping the monster by the wrists as they tumbled backward, "Kill it!" Peter cried, struggling on the floor, "Kill the damn thing!" a wide, gaping, vertical mouth split the creature's face in two, and Peter turned his face aside with a growl of effort as triangular teeth nipped for his cheek.

Olivia stumbled forward, the axe flashing in an arch to strike the split-face in the abdomen. Its bound legs contracted, and it let out another wail, as Olivia ripped the axe free and swung again. The blade severed a line of barbed wire as Olivia shattered an over-extended shoulder blade.

Peter pushed the creature away, and raised his knee, ramming it aside and rolling away. Olivia brought the axe down again, breaking rib bones and gashing open the creature's soft belly.

It writhed for a few moments before growing still, blood and organ tissue pooling beneath its cresent-shaped form, and Olivia stood over it, panting as Peter climbed to his feet, "Thanks," he said breathlessly.

"No problem," Olivia replied in exasperation.

"We've got to get out of here," Peter said, "I don't know what the fuck is going on, but we have to find Walter, and find a way out of here."

xXx


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven.

They had started off at a brisk pace, but Olivia's legs were growing sore from keeping up with Peter's long strides. But, before long, as more and more ash continued to flutter and fall around them, they had slowed, caution dulling and minds clearing. It already felt like they had been walking up and down the dull, grey streets for hours, pausing every now and again to listen for a sound that would pique their alarm, before continuing on, weapons on shoulder.

There was still no sign of Walter.

Steam wafted up from a split manhole cover in the middle of the street, and Olivia watched it for a few moments as they passed, her brows furrowing, and she held out a hand to touch Peter's hand, stilling him, "Peter."

He glanced at her, then back at the manhole cover, "What's up?"

"There. Tracks." Olivia motioned to the scuffed ash, the markings looking as if they had been made no more than a few hours before. They returned to the manhole, and Peter stooped to poke his finger into the ash, measuring the depth of the track.

"This might be him," Peter reasoned brightly, rising, "I guess now all we do is follow them. And hope he hasn't gotten himself into too much trouble," Peter smiled, a hint of relief in his face, and nodded for Olivia to follow him.

They paced across the street, intend on the faded marks, leading them up onto the sidewalk and around the corner of the street, avoiding a collapsed piece of shop roofing. Olivia stilled in step as dread seized her, "Peter, those aren't Walter's tracks."

"What?"

"They're our tracks. Yours and mine- we've been going in circles," Olivia delved into her pocket, drawing out the map, "We're lost."

"What? Impossible!" Peter took one side of the map from her, squinting at it in the gloom, "That's impossible, we can't..." he looked up, around them at the empty street and vacant shop windows, "how...?"

Olivia muttered a curse under her breath as she pulled the map closer, peering at the pen-line streets in the rapidly fading light, before a sound began to register in her ears.

"Do you hear that?" Peter questioned in a whisper. He released the map to grab the flashlight from his belt, but Olivia stilled him, before he could click it on.

The sound grew louder, what Olivia thought at first to be a distant cry becoming a loud, artificial wailing around them, much like an old, air-raid siren. They peered about wildly, eyes wide with fear in the plunging dark, before she felt Peter seize her wrist, tugging her in a direction. She stumbled after him, up what felt to be stairs, and she heard him call, over the noise, "In here!"

Olivia hit the dusty rug as complete darkness fell.

She lay still for a few moments, her breath forced back on her in the still air as if she were in an enclosed place. She blinked a few times, as she pushed herself up, her eyes straining for any sort of light and finding none. "Peter?" she called at last, and there was no echo.

Shakily she reached her hand out before her, expecting a wall of some kind and finding only open space, as her fingers scraped through the air to find the floor again, feeling littered with bits of glass and plaster. Carefully she shifted forward, stretching her hand out again, and still finding nothing. The closeness nagged about her ears, making her sweat.

"Peter?" Olivia called again.

"Aunt Liv?"

The small voice in the dark shocked her, and Olivia retracted into herself, her breath catching in her chest, and she gave a small cry as something near her shifted, and a match suddenly flared, pushing back the dark, "Aunt Liv!"

Olivia blinked at her niece before her, smiling brightly as she held the match aloof, "Ella...?"

"I knew it was you! I'm so glad I found you!"

"What are you doing here?" Olivia crawled forward, taking the matchbook from Ella and smoothing her hair back from her eyes, "don't you know it's dangerous? Where's your mom?"

"Mom and I wanted to see who would find you first. We knew you were lost, so we came looking for you..." The match began to flicker, and Olivia waved it out before she lit another, staying back the needles of dark pushing in on them, and a twisted, sideways face gasped before her, lips pulling back from underdeveloped teeth, "I'm so glad it was me."

Olivia scrambled back, the match jumping from her hand to hit the floor, sputtering to blue as the creature, a grey mass of mottled, twisted flesh, Ella's size, ambled toward her.

"Olivia!" A flashlight beam glanced off the walls, and Olivia's eyes widened at the dozen other forms in the lobby, bumping and nudging one another to get to her, and she searched about wildly for her axe, "get outta there!" Peter motioned to her from the hallway, and she stumbled to her feet, backing away from the swarming mass around her, raising the axe over her head.

"If you're going to do it, _do it_!" there was a messy splattering noise, followed by the raspy sound of a sick baby keening, as the mass shifted away from Walter, whom continued to bash his way through the crowd, "_It's not Ella_, now kill it!"

"Walter!" Peter exclaimed, "where the hell have you been?"

"Peter, daddy's busy!" Walter replied, and kicked, sending a grey child stumbling aside.

Olivia barred her teeth, swinging the axe down, hacking until the blade tore the rug and dinged off of the marble floor. Snatching up the map and stuffing it into her pocket, she darted toward the doorway, Walter close at her heels.

Peter stepped aside as they rushed through, and hauled the rotting double doors closed, twisting shut the lock. There were sounds of heavy hitting and more crying, as Peter set his shoulder to a nearby oak display table, grunting with effort as he pushed it in front of the doors, barring them. They were panting as the thudding subsided, and Peter angled his flashlight at the ceiling, "is everyone all right?" he questioned, looking to them.

Olivia wiped black blood spatter from high on her cheek with her sleeve, "Yeah."

"Walter?"

He gave himself a quick pat-down, giving extra care to his crotch, "Yes," he reported at last.

"Where were you? Olivia and I have been looking everywhere, in this damn place... and what the hell is going on here, anyways?"

"It's nice to see you, too," Walter replied grumpily, rubbing his cheek on his shoulder, and he nodded off down the hall, "Come on, let's see if we can't find a way out of this god-forsaken place."

"We're going to have to find a new road out," Olivia said, "The one we came in on... at least, I think it was the one we came in on... it's gone."

"Oh, I knew _that_," Walter said, waving off her comment dismissively, "currently I'm only interested in finding a way out of this hotel, I've been... I've been lost in here for some time." He looked sheepish, and continued on down the dark hall, Peter's flashlight beam glancing off the torn wallpaper and rotting velvet drapes, "all the windows are bricked up."

"All of them?" Peter asked.

"All of the ones I've found. I would very much like to be proven wrong, if you're up to the task," Walter paused, and looked back over his shoulder in the direction of the sealed doors, "What's that way, what did we just leave?"

"The lobby," Olivia answered, shaking her head to clear her thoughts, and she plucked a strand of hair from her eyes, "Peter and I just came in, it was getting dark and there was this wailing, I don't know-"

"Olivia," Peter said, his brows furrowing with concern, "I've been looking for you for over an hour. When we came through the front door, I lost my grip on you, and you were gone."

"What does it matter, this place is intolerable!" Walter grumped, twisting the metal pipe in his fingers, "While I admit that at first I was curious, after an examination of these creatures, I find myself disappointed and highly irritated."

"How do you mean?" Peter questioned, exchanging glances with Olivia.

"It's teasing me. All of it. It seems fitting that the one thing that I could manage to do, with my infinite imagination, was annoy the hell out of myself."

"You think this is a dream?" Peter translated, sounding exasperated, "A delusion?"

"Yes. It seems to be completely logical- I've overdosed on something, and this is the reaction. The Greychildren, the Needlers, the Smokers, the whole damn thing. Something to pique my curiosity, then dash it," Walter's face grew bitter, "a riddle I can't solve, even if I've created it myself."

"Walter, this isn't a dream," Olivia said, as Peter shook his head in disbelief, "Whatever this is, however crazy it seems, Peter and I are here, and it's all real."

"Of course _you _would say that," Walter replied flatly.

"But what if I'm right?" Olivia demanded, "what other explanation could there be?"

"Well..." Walter continued, concentrating a moment in contemplation, "there are always the chemicals being released into the air by whatever is causing the smoke and ash. Whatever is burning must be highly toxic, and we could all be experiencing the hallucinatory effects, something like sulfur dioxide or coal..." He looked up at her, frowning, "but that seems a bit over-the-top, don't you think?"

"Olivia, forget it," Peter said, "Let's just get out of here. Whatever this is, I'm sure it makes a hell of a lot more sense from the outside."

xXx

They continued on down the hall, past the empty doorway of a wide, vacant ballroom, rubble and broken furniture dredging away from the background of darkness in the dim light of the flashlight glare.

"Hotels have dozens of entrances, I'm sure there's a back door we can go through. And after that... Silent Hill borders a lake, right? We can get a boat- hell, we'll swim out, if we have to."

"Peter!" Walter hissed and seized his arm, making him jump, and his lips trembled slightly as he whispered hoarsely, "What about Nessy?"

Peter shrugged him off, frowning bitterly, "I don' think we'll have to worry about it, Walter."

"We could try the kitchens," Olivia suggested, her eyes intent in the dark.

"No," Walter replied.

"Not for food, Walter," Peter explained with a smirk, before he stopped, "Walter?"

Walter was shaking his head, his face blanched of color and his eyes down turned, "Not the kitchen. _He's_ in the kitchen."

"Who?"

"Don't make me talk about Him!" Walter snapped, his grip tightening on his bent lead pipe as he stepped back from them, looking frightened.

"Walter, calm down," Olivia said cautiously, lowering her voice, "It's okay. Who is in the kitchen? Is it another person?"

Walter shook his head and shut his eyes, refusing to speak further, and Peter sighed, "Fine, never mind the kitchens. What about a garage, some thing like that? What about the doorways in the outer ballrooms?"

"What about a map?"

"Of a hotel?"

She pointed to a plastic-covered placard mounted on the wall, and stepped forward, wedging the axe into the yellow, clouded cover to pry it loose of the wall, and Peter stooped to retrieve it, tugging the paper free of the plastic and plaster, and he smiled up at her, "Nice."

"The elevators won't have power," Peter reasoned, motioning to the three locations of them on the map, "But we should be able to follow the maintenance stairs just beside them into the basement, and from there, there should be an exit to get to the main power room, it's separate from the rest of the hotel. The main basement stairs are in the lobby, but forget those-" he paused to stomp a large bug that skittered by on the floor, wiping his shoe before he continued, "so our other two options are still open. The elevator by the veranda, and the service elevator- " he waved away another of the large bugs that flew toward the flashlight beam, and Olivia batted one away from her neck, then another from the air beside Peter's ear, "what the hell...?"

The air had begun to grow increasingly hot, the smell of burning cloth permeating the air around them, when Walter gave a squeak of alarm, pointing off toward another empty ballroom entrance. Bugs skittered toward them on the floor and walls, and Olivia and Peter stepped back in alarm as a red glow shown distantly from the entryway.

Olivia blinked in confusion as a thread of fabric rose from the rug on the floor at her feet, drifting upward in on the hot air, before crumbling into ash and disappearing. She turned around wildly, the wallpaper peeling away from the walls to reveal iron framing and mesh beneath, glowing like a furnace. The bugs skittering and jumping away from the hot metal floor were uttering small shrieks, flooding past them, away from the ballroom. Olivia raised her hand to shield her face from the heat, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Don't just stand there, run!" Walter cried, grabbing Peter by the elbow, "It's _Him_!"

The sound of steel scratching steel pierced the boiling air, and Walter shoved them from their dumbfounded stances, "GO!" and they began to sprint back down the hall, now alight with the amber-filled walls bleeding a deep red light.

"This way!" Peter said, motioning down another corridor, "The service elevator should be down there!" The metallic screeching continued, seeming to grow alarmingly closer at every bend. "There!" Peter motioned at last to the open, empty elevator, dark and seeming unaffected by the inferno of twisted metal around them.

"it's too late," Walter stammered, his eyes wide with fear as he stared in the direction they had come, "He's here."

xXx


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight.

"Allow me to be the first to say, it was nice knowing you two," Walter commented quietly.

Sparks and debris scattered on the charred floor as the wall was sliced in two, sending them stumbling away from the damages to connect with the black mesh of the opposite wall. The axe had slipped from Olivia's grasp, and she was stooping to retrieve it when Peter pressed an arm to her chest, stilling her. Heat washed over her face, and she squinted and blinked as her eyelashes singed, the hot air nearly suffocating.

Footsteps, heavy and booming, in time with the horrid sound of scratching metal, resonated in her lungs. He was tall- somewhere around seven and a half feet, Olivia guessed. What made him so much larger was the shape of the black, iron cage surrounding his head, a point extending toward them as he seemed to drag it along slowly, rust and ash circling the protruding rivets and grooves of the helmet in red. It sat on massive, charred shoulders, long, lean arms draped to his sides, all parts of his exposed skin filthy and scarred. The heat of the air around his form was like an oven, and smelled like nothing, as if any scent had been burned away.

His long, jagged, black blade screeched along behind him, raising sparks.

"No fucking way," Peter managed.

The point of his helmet swung toward them like a compass need, and his stride was long, as he set both hands to the hilt of his cleaver, hauling it forward to strike.

Olivia gripped Peter, dragging him to the floor fast enough to avoid the blade piercing the wall where they had been, and she hurried to shake away the hot rubble that scattered over her as he drew the blade back out of the wall. Walter stumbled away from the next swing with a cry, loosing his footing and falling, sparks glancing from his shoulders to burn out in the boiling darkness.

Peter sprawled over the floor to snatch up Olivia's dropped axe, rolling onto his side to avoid a downward slash, now separated from Olivia and Walter by the creature, hulking closer with each strike, "Get to the elevator!" Peter called, gripping the axe in both hands and taking another step away, "Get in and shut the doors!"

"Peter-" Walter started, his voice tight with panic.

"Hey, you stupid son of a bitch! Over here!" His helmet turned again, and Peter swung the axe, the blade connecting with the long front of his hidden face and setting him off balance to stumble a few steps. Peter was backing away, down the hall, as he regained balance.

Olivia grabbed Walter by the elbow, hauling him back into the elevator. The cold air immediately made her shiver, and she looked up as the walls around them suddenly flickered and lit, a soft chime announcing the doors sliding shut. The lights flickered, and Walter rushed toward the shutting doors, clawing at them, "Peter!" he pounded on the doors with his fists as they shut the heat out, and there was a shutter in the compartment, pulleys creaking as they were launched into movement, and the light was extinguished once more.

xXx

There was a nearly mocking _ding_, when the elevator panels slid open, and they came to a shuddering halt. The cables overhead creaked and crackled with metallic strain, rust flakes fluttering down on them every now and again, and Olivia gripped Walter's shoulder, pushing him ahead of her as they stumbled over the alarming gap between the lift and the hotel floor. Walter collapsed immediately onto the ash-stained carpet when Olivia released him, weeping softly. He did not look up from his sorrows, even as the cables in the elevator suddenly snapped, and Olivia gasped in alarm, the small room dropping sharply and plunging out of sight.

A surprisingly chill wind had arisen, softly breathing through the halls, the draft the only noise in the damp, silent floor, "Walter," Olivia said, stooping to touch his shoulder again, "We have to get moving, whatever that was could still be after us..."

"I've killed him! I've killed my own son-!" Walter choked.

"Walter, Peter said that we had to get out of here, and it wasn't your fault—"

"Damn me! Damn my mind! Damn it, why won't I just wake up?" Walter cried, burying his fingers into his hair and sobbing into his palms, "Why do I keep having these dreams?"

Olivia opened her mouth to tell him again that what he was experiencing was indeed a reality, but suddenly paused. Her brows moved up on her forehead in an arch, and her hand softened on his trembling shoulder, "Walter, its okay. Even if... even if this is your dream, if that's what you believe... then you have to believe that you're going to wake up from it."

Walter sniffed and rubbed his running nose on his blood spattered sleeve.

"Or even change it," Olivia offered up his slightly bent piece of piping, and he slowly took it from her, raising his reddened eyes to look into her face. She smiled slightly, "I don't know what's going on, here, but I promise you that we'll get Peter back."

"I wish you were this nice to me outside my dreams," Walter said, as she was helping him to his feet, and Olivia let out a tired laugh.

"Me, too."

It seemed that most of the floor was _missing_. They stood on the threshold of the gaping hole, the core of the hotel seeming to have been burnt out for several stories, and, peering down, they could see only blackness.

"Careful," Olivia warned Walter, "this place can't be very stable."

"I know how gravity works, I assure you," Walter grumbled in reply, as he kicked at a piece of floor tile, sending it into the abyss. They did not hear where it landed.

Olivia knelt at the edge, careful of her footing as she more closely examined the crumbling cement and charred wood, "This fire was hot and fast. It only consumed what was in the immediate area, but it burned out as soon as its main fuel ran out- see how it only scorched the ceiling, but didn't continue burning through it?"

Walter nodded, offering her a hand as she stepped away, "Which would explain why we saw no traces of the fire in the lobby," he swallowed, the corners of his mouth twitching downward as he remember the course of events that had only recently left them without his son. Olivia's jaw, in turn, tightened with worry, "So, what now? We can't go down, and we can't continue upward. What else is there?"

Olivia considered. Again she stepped toward the chasm, and held out the lead pipe to Walter, "Hold onto this and help me down. I'm going to see if I can't find out where this fire started."

Walter frowned with confusion, but gripped one end of the pipe carefully, "Why would you want to do that?"

"All this ash has to come from somewhere- and I have a feeling that this might be connected with it," Olivia explained, as she slowly lowered herself over the edge. Walter grunted and rooted himself as she L'd out, and at last kicked herself away from the ledge.

She let out a small cry as her grip slipped and she fell, her arm tangling in exposed rebar and gashing open her shoulder, "Olivia!" Walter cried, racing to the edge.

"I'm alright!" Olivia called up, pulling herself free and settling her feet on the floor below. She was panting as she peered up at Walter, "toss me the pipe. I'm going to see if I can't find some service stairs—" She paused as the pipe landed at her feet with a clatter, and she stooped to retrieve it, "—and make it back up to you, okay?" But Walter had already disappeared when she straightened again, "Walter?" she called. She waited for a few moments, dread making the silence throb in her ears, before she called him again, "Walter!"

"If you're going to go, then go! Don't just stand there mewling for me for an hour!" Walter snapped, frowning down at her. Olivia blinked and nodded, chagrined. His face softened, "be safe," he said, and slipped from sight again.

xXx


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine.

A hotel room door was open, a black rectangle in the surroundings of grey. Olivia was careful of her footing over the uneven, rubble-strewn floor, gently nursing her wounded shoulder blade. Ash and dust were already collecting in the gash, and she ignored it as she looked in the doorway, squinting into the dark, her fists clenched around the blood-spotted length of lead pipe.

She ventured deeper into the room, as shapes became cleared, in the shadows. A rotted mattress hung in tatters through the mesh of a rusted, twin-sized bed frame, and mold spotted the walls, the damp, musty smell permeating the air. Olivia covered her mouth and nose with her sleeve, muting her coughing, and her footing was weak as the floorboard gave slightly. She stepped back in alarm, and retraced her steps back to the hall.

Broken, half-burnt furniture littered the hall; old chests of drawers, bed frames, useless chairs. As odd as it looked, it seemed to Olivia as if, quite possibly, they had been _added_ to the fire.

She would be very happy, to be out of this place.

She found the elevator doors shut off, and sighed, her breath fogging the air around her, and she raised the pipe, set to wedge it between the panels, when something suddenly punctured the metal cover, and she stumbled back in alarm. The blade retracted, only to be replaced by another, the sound of guttural clicking echoing in the elevator shaft. More triangular holes appeared in the doors, the noise of scrambling among the severed cables, and, suddenly, silence.

Olivia turned to run, when there was clicking in the dark. Her eyes darted to the shadows of the hall in turn, her heart thundering in her chest. Something very large scuttled across wooden floorboards, and Olivia stepped back into her own, dark corner.

_Clink. Clink. Clink._

A fleshy, pink figure had emerged from the dark room Olivia had decided not to traverse; long, pointed limbs trembling, as it bobbed along. It resembled a human, in some ways; chest up, crab walking steadily along on scythe-like bones, freakish extensions of the forearms and shins. The head- what Olivia assumed was, in any case- battered about between knocked knees, affixed to the torso at the wrong end, to be human.

It paused, in its teetering, legs stabbing forward, testing the floor. The creature shivered and stilled, the clicking echoing in the hallway. It pranced in a circle for a few moments, apparently aware of the floor rot, and at last continued forward, toward her.

Olivia held her breath, and it ached in her chest, as her mind spun with thought. She just prayed that there weren't more...

She leapt out of the shadows with a yell, and the creature stumbled backward in apparent surprise. It hissed, as it squared off with her, spindly steps stabbing backward as it swiped forward at her.

Olivia raised the pipe to fend off the strike, and winced as the shock stung, in her hands. She ducked another cut forward, and jumped from a downward stab. She lifted the pipe, bringing it down to drive the blade of the creature's leg into the rotting floor, pinning it. The creature wrenched at the blade, when Olivia drove the wedge in deeper, and dodged a strike from the opposite leg. She repeated her process, until the thing was hissing and clicking wildly, struggling and shaking with effort. Olivia took aim, crushing its hanging skull in a single strike. It collapsed on itself like a dying spider.

Olivia wiped her lips on her sleeve, and hoisted the pipe on her shoulder with a nod.

"Olivia?" Came a muffled call, and she jumped with surprise.

"Walter?"

"The stairs are... um... well, they're something of missing... !"Olivia darted for the collapsed stairway, and cursed. Walter looked down on her, his brows creased with worry, "Now what?"

"We're going to have to get down this way, Walter- this place is crawling with... things."

Walter's eyes rounded, "_Things_?" he squeaked.

"Yes. Now come on, I need you to think about how to get down, okay?"

"How did you get down?"

Olivia frowned, "You helped me down, Walter."

"Oh." Walter looked up, his eyes spanning the inside of the cluttered, skeletal staircase, "Hmm. Well, I suppose... "he paused suddenly, looking frightened, "_did you hear that_?"

"Hear what? I didn't hear anything, Walter. Walter, no!" Olivia exclaimed, as it appeared that he was readying himself for a jump, "No, it's too dangerous!"

"I want my pipe back, when I get down there!" Walter leapt forward, rubble raining down the expanse as he cleared the gap, his boots finding ground on the broken staircase. He slipped suddenly, his arms shooting out to grasp at the railing. He was panting with fear as he pulled himself upright, shakily making his way downward.

"Walter, that was so stupid!" Olivia hissed.

Walter grinned, abashed, "It was, wasn't it?"

The wood was beginning to crumble, the supports creaking, "Walter, get over here, _now!_" Olivia demanded, and Walter scrambled forward, his foot breaking the floorboards every now and again. The staircase suddenly gave, and he jumped, falling short of the doorway at Olivia's feet, scrambling against the wall, "I've got you! Hang on!"

She gripped Walter's arms, hauling him up with all of her strength. There was a crack, as more of the stairway tumbled loose, clattering as it fell. Olivia experianced a blinding flash of burning pain as it struck the back of her head, and her grip slipped, before she tipped forward, her knees clipping the doorway as she fell.

She felt the firm impact of the floor as she hit, then the weight of the wreckage land over her, and finally the ring of the lead pipe striking cement sending her senses into silence.

xXx

Dust, not ash, clotted the blood on her damaged elbow, as her head twitched aside, blinding pain shooting across her forehead. She issued a small gasp and opened her eyes, fleetingly at first, until she could blink herself to her senses properly.

For an entire moment, she contemplated never getting up again.

Rustling movement drew her attention, and she held her breath, blurred senses struggling to sharpen in the dark. The flashlight beam glanced off the ceiling, and she willed herself to shift from her lying position. She could see, now, that she had been pulled out from under the stairway wreckage, and was reclining on a thinly carpeted floor.

"Hmm. Interesting," Walter was muttering to himself, and Olivia released her breath.

"Walter," she uttered weakly.

In a few moments, he was checking her pupils with the flashlight, and nodding affirmatively, "You're quite well-constructed, agent Dunham. A fall like that could have killed anyone less hearty- excluding yours truly, of course," he lowered the flashlight, letting her blink in the dark as he helped her sit up, "easy, now."

"Walter, what happened?" Olivia questioned, "where the hell are we?"

"I made a tremendous error in judgment that nearly killed us, firstly," Walter replied wryly, "but as for where we are..." he shrugged a shoulder in the shadows, "your guess is as good, if not better, than mine." He pointed the flashlight at a pile of assorted wreckage and garbage, continuing, "I've been looking for anything that might help us, to pass the time. Admittedly, it's been futile."

Olivia raised a hand to rub the back of her head, finding tender bruises, "Why didn't you scout around, try to find out where we are?"

"I couldn't leave you!" Walter exclaimed, "no, no that certainly wouldn't do, Peter would never forgive me."

Olivia found herself smiling, shaking her head slowly, "Thanks, Walter."

"And I need your help, in any case," Walter left her sitting to return to his rummaging, a tin can rattling across the floor, "you promised you would help me rescue Peter, and I'm not leaving you until we do. Until then, it would probably be best if the both of us didn't have to share a weapon, in this hell-hole."

Olivia let him continue with his absent-minded chattering, as she thought. Hell. That might explain it. She could be dead, "Walter," she interrupted, and he paused in his one-sided dialogue pertaining to Black Jack to listen, "do you think that's what it is?"

"What's what?" Walter questioned in return, bewildered.

"Do you think we're in hell?"

Olivia waited in the stifling darkness for his answer, and he returned to rifling as he uttered a small, innocent "Nope."

"Then... what is it?"

"It's a sheet test."

"A what?"

"A sheet test. They used to give us something called the sheet test, at St. Clare's. they put us in a room with an empty cot and a stack of blankets, and simply commanded us to make the bed. The problem was, the bottom sheet would never fit. Sometimes we'd end up ripping the thing, I remember one time when I was so careful, but no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't make it fit."

"If you knew it was too small, why didn't you just give up and tell them it was too small?"

Walter shrugged a shoulder, "there are many strange things, in the minds of the mad. I guess what they were teaching us was that no matter how hard we tried to force ourselves to fit, in a society that was threatened by our existence, we would never make it, in the rest of the world. If a sheet that was too small was enough to set us off, there was no way we could function, on the outside... it's the sort of conditioning they give you, when they know you're not going anywhere. 'Don't even try to help you, anymore."

Olivia watched him for a few moments, a he scuffed about, in the wreckage, "Things were really terrible there, weren't they?" she questioned.

Walter glanced up at her, then let out a sigh, smiling around at their settings, "about as bad as this," he replied.

Olivia smiled back wryly.

"Well, look at that!" Walter exclaimed, pulling something from the heap, "treasure!" It was an old crowbar, the red paint peeling away from the rusted iron, "this should come in handy, don't you think?"

"Definitely," Olivia admitted as he rose with it, polishing off a few of the paint chips with his sleeve as he weighed it in his hands. He approached and handed it to her.

"Happy birthday."

"Walter, are you sure...?" Olivia said uncertainly, taking the implement from him.

Walter nodded, "I've got my pipe, it's done me nothing but good. Besides, you deserve nice things." and Olivia laughed.

xXx


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten.

When Olivia felt certain of herself once more, they set off again. Slowly, at first, as she was unused to carrying the crowbar on her injured shoulder, but soon she had learned to ignore the pain. The more ash on the wound, it seemed, the less it bothered her.

The rubble-strewn room around them appeared to have been victim of the overhead fire as well, traces of fire black against the half-scorched walls hardly visible, over the rest of the filth. Only the carpet remained mostly in tact, scorched holes from falling embers marring the thin rug and exposing the cement slab beneath. The carpeted room ended soon, and as they passed a small, inordinate doorway onto a dirty linoleum tile floor, and Olivia was nearly certain that they were in what appeared to be the basement of the hotel. Old, dripping pipes lined the walls, streaking them with rust, and now and again there was the crunch of a rat skeleton underfoot. The dead rodents disgusted Olivia at first, but soon she grew to ignore them. Walter, however, would let out a small titter of laughter whenever he chanced upon one, as if stepping on bubble wrap.

"Do you think," Olivia commented during the long, eerie walk, "that if we wore masks, things would get... normal?"

Walter pursed his lips in contemplation, then clicked his tongue against teeth, "Probably not immediately. If we are being affected by toxins causing the hallucinations, the poison would have to work its way out of our systems. And if it's in the air, an ordinary face mask simply won't do, we've been exposed too long..."

"Is there anything we can do? An antidote, something?"

"Fresh air and a mohito. But only because I want one."

Olivia paused, and turned sharply on her heel, the flashlight beam stretching out into the darkness from whence they had come, "I heard something."

Walter frowned with worry, "I think it was my stomach. I'm really very hungry, as unorthodox as that may seem."

"No, it's not that. I think... Walter, I think its rain." Olivia turned the flashlight toward the ceiling, "I hear rain."

Walter paused to listen, beside her in the dark, "Yes, I hear it, too."

"That means we have to be outside the hotel," Olivia reasoned, "under the street- it's not from far above us. Maybe there's a drainage ditch nearby-"

"I remember the last time I crawled out of a drainage ditch, no fun," Walter muttered to himself.

"Maybe a manhole or something. A way to get down here to service these pipes. Keep an eye on the walls; look for a ladder or an outlet." She continued down the tunnel with new gusto, but Walter strayed behind, "What is it?" Olivia questioned, turning back to him.

Walter raised his hand to block the glare of the light in his face, "We have to find Peter."

"Walter, we will, we just have to get out of here, before-"

"We can't leave without him!" Walter protested.

Olivia lowered the flashlight with a sigh, "We're not going to leave without him. I've got a plan, alright?" Walter crossed his arms across his chest, seeming unconvinced, "I want to save him too, okay? You said yourself that we might be suffering from hallucinations, so there's got to be something we can take to clear our heads. If we get out of here, we can get to a hospital, and there has to be something there..."

Walter looked a little more enlightened, his mind running on with her plan, "And we can search out Peter unaffected by the toxins. No more of this awful nonsense to scare us..." he looked to her with an approving smile, "Good thinking, agent Dunham!"

Olivia granted him an exasperated smile, "So, deal? We get out of here, get and antidote, and then get Peter?" she offered her hand.

Walter accepted it, "Deal. Let's go."

The rain had become a soft rush on the cracked and uneven cement of the street, grey, dirty water trickling into the dark around them as Olivia braced herself on the rusted rungs of the ladder, heaving up the manhole cover with her uninjured shoulder. More water and small chunks of gravel scattered down as the heavy iron ingress shifted, at last rattling aside as she pushed.

Rain battered her forehead, and she flinched away, at first- it was cold.

Olivia crawled up, onto the street, stooping to take the crowbar and pipe from Walter, as he followed out after her. He watched her quietly as she turned her face back to the rain, letting it wash off a bit of the grime before she rubbed her chin of her sleeve.

"We don't have a map, do we?" he questioned quietly.

Olivia shook her head, "No. Peter still has it."

"I wish he was here," Walter sighed. He raised a hand to block the rain from hitting his eyelashes, and squinted around, "It's so dirty, this place."

Olivia was the first to rise from the warm pavement, using the axe to aide her, "Come on, let's get moving."

Something about the rain calmed her, it somehow felt normal. The eerie snowfall of constant ash had abated, if only for a few minutes, and Olivia sloshed on down the street, enjoying the water on her cold skin without comment. "When we get to the hospital, you should let me have a look at that shoulder, I'll see if I can't find something to treat it," Walter interrupted her silence.

"Oh- it's alright," Olivia replied, raising her hand to it, still caked in ash. She thought about rubbing away the grime, but decided against it, "it doesn't hurt, actually."

Walter shrugged his shoulder as if to _say have it your way_.

Olivia motioned in the direction they were walking, "The hotel must be in this direction, some place. It's the way we came from, down in the tunnel."

"Is it?" Walter questioned, "If you say so. I don't know where the hell we are."

Now, Olivia paused, stilling in her steps. "You're right," she said, turning around, "It's got to be that way." Walter only watched her blankly, "...isn't it?"

He shrugged a shoulder.

Olivia cursed, pushing her wet bangs out of her eyes, "I don't know! I don't know which way is up or down, in this damn place!"

Walter was frowning, hands stuffed into the pockets of his damp slacks, "We're going to have to cross that bridge, aren't we?"

"What?"

Walter nodded down a side road that Olivia had not seen, before. It ended abruptly to become a suspended bridge, cement supports and deteriorated cables fading into of the rain. A fallen telephone pole blocked it part of the way, torn cords strewn over the street like flat veins, and a rusted pickup, blue color now exposed from under the ash, sat dead at the bridges' edge.

"I think so, Walter," Olivia replied.

Walter looked ruffled, under his messy hair, "I hate bridges!" But he followed Olivia anyways, skirting an overturned dumpster and nearing the old truck.

Glass shattered as a form erupted from the cab, tumbling into the bed and lurching forward again. Olivia threw her arm out to stop Walter, her reflexes finding her between him and the threat, "Walter, get back!"

It was another of the creatures that had attacked Peter in the general store, lithe, bald, pink body melted into a single form, arms ending in wicked claws. It hissed as it wriggled forward on the slick cement.

Olivia readied her crowbar for the attack, before Walter gripped her shoulder, "Another!" He pointed as another one of the creatures slithered from beneath the dumpster behind them, and Olivia turned as another caught her vision slinking from a storm drain.

"Shit!" she hissed. She swung as the first strayed too close, and it shrimped away, her strike barely missing, "Walter, stay close!"

"Oh, just run!" Walter hissed in return, shoulders bumping with Olivia's as he held his pipe before him.

Olivia blinked; "Good idea!" and she grabbed him by the collar, hauling him with her as she sprinted for the bridge. Walter stumbled a few steps and turned, on her heels as they put distance on the creatures.

But quickly they were being overtaken. Olivia could hear the faint clink of claws scraping concrete, and tucked the crowbar under her arm as she continued to bolt with all she was worth.

There it was. A chain link gate.

Olivia stopped on her heels as she crossed the threshold of the gate, gripping the open gate and throwing it shut behind her, "Walter!" she called to him as he stared at her, "hold it shut!"

"What?"

"Just do it!" Walter pressed the gate shut with his hip and shoulder as the first of the things collided with the chain link, talons flashing as pink flesh was mashed to the grid. Olivia bared her teeth as she swiped with the crowbar, striking the creature's claws, kinking them over the fencing.

It hissed as the next two arrived in a similar fashion, and Olivia pinned them with the same method, before driving the crowbar through the fence, killing each in turn.

"Like flies on a sticky trap," Walter breathed in exasperation.

"Good idea, Walter," Olivia grinned as he stared, confused.

xXx

Grape vines cracked the stonework of the town square into uneven slabs and overgrew a twisted iron fence, gripping it and squeezing it until it had nearly fallen. The fruit had long passed its ripe stages (much to Walter's hungry dismay), and even then it seemed to have been stunted, as dry cobwebs clung to withered berries, shrunken on the vine. A tall fountain stood a little ways off from them, figures of stone too withered to tell who they were or what they were doing. A tall cross stood over all of the slim, shadowy figures, one side chipped to expose rebar.

The rain had stopped and a low ground fog had begun to rise, filling Olivia with dread. She was afraid that she would not be able to see any low-to-the-ground threats, and she waved the mist away as best she could, eyes sharp and ears alert. The hospital should be close anyways, as the tilted, rusted street signs had said...

Walter touched her shoulder and she paused, her gaze following his pointing to a tall, old-fashioned building, its many darkened windows looking out over the square, in the mist. Olivia breathed a deep sigh of relief and started forward, her waving and careful progress a little less so, now that her goal was in view. The hospital looked to be about as old as the hotel had been, both massive grey brick giants among the crumbling, newer, lesser structures around them.

She spoke when they entered through the front, stepping through the aluminum frames of the rotating doors, devoid of glass and long since unfunctioning, "Well, we're here. Walter, what exactly would you need to clear our heads?"

"A miracle," Walter answered honestly, "but, seeing as those are in short supply, at the moment, we'll have to make due with any kind of antipsychotic you can find."

"All right. Were would they keep those, in a place like this?"

"If they've got a section eight... a mental ward, probably there. This establishment looks like it was vacated long before the idea of a pharmacy, lucky us," Walter followed after Olivia, his eyes darting suspiciously among the decrepit wheelchairs and scant furniture in the quiet, half obscured by fog, "And, even if I can't get what we need, I'm certain I can whip up something to pass the time a little easier." he smiled wryly as Olivia frowned, then shook her head.

Olivia pushed aside a creaking gurney draped in tattered white sheets to have a look at list of plastic tabs bolted to the wall, smearing ash away to read them better, "I don't see any mental ward listed, here. But information is just down the hall, let's go."

It was harder and harder to see in the dim, and Olivia at last retrieved the flashlight from her belt, clicking it on as they emerged into a small, office-looking room, withered oak desk sitting crumpled in the middle of torn carpet. A pot of dead soil was tipped over in the corner of the room, and papers had been torn from the open filing cabinets and strewn across the floor. Olivia was stooping to shift through them as Walter went to the desk, looking through it idly, "Look at this," he commented, his brows lifting in surprise as he straightened, paper in his hands, "newspaper, would you like to see?"

"No, Walter. I just want to get a map and get on with this," Olivia replied from the floor flatly. But Walter wasn't listening, as he had returned to reading over the tiny newsprint, his lips moving slightly as he squinted.

"I should have brought my glasses. Look here, it's got an article about some fellow that's gone and gotten himself convicted," He looked to see if Olivia was still uninterested, and read on, "for a fire. Something about some children going missing- oh, my, that's dreadful!"

Olivia finally glanced up, anxious, "What? What is it?"

"He's got my name! 'Walter', see? Just awful... but it says that he burned down the hotel, or at least tried to..." Walter frowned flatly, the ancient paper crinkling, under his fingers, "well, this doesn't make much sense at all, does it?"

Olivia sighed, as she returned to her rummaging, "It never does."

"Says here that 'The blaze was started in a room with faulty plumbing, which had since been condemned by the hotel to be unusable'..." Walter glanced up at her, "Is that where is came from, agent Dunham?"

Olivia paused, as she lifted a faded pamphlet from the floor, "from what I could tell. But... why would a fire burn _down_?"

"Fire doesn't burn downward, what are you talking about?" Walter arched a brow.

"The basement of the hotel... the ceiling was burned out, but the floor was in tact," Olivia opened the pamphlet, but her gaze was still lost in her thoughts, "_that _doesn't make any sense."

"It never does," Walter replied with a smile, "what's that you have there?"

"A map, I think. But it's hard to read, I can't-" she stilled as there was a rustling from the door, and she turned the flashlight off. She could hear Walter tighten his grip on his pipe, and slowly lifted her crowbar from her side. Barely breathing in the dark, they waited.

A silhouette stilled in the doorway, then moved on, limping.

Olivia gaped, amazed. The form had been tall, slender, but definitely human. And, as she listened to the shuffling steps fade away, down the hall, she motioned to Walter in the dark, which shared her hope. Carefully, quietly, they followed after the form, footsteps nearly silent as they picked their way between the scattered obstacles.

Walter inhaled sharply as his foot struck a rusted scalpel, sending it clattering across the hard floor. The form ahead of them froze, as if listening, and Olivia at last spoke, "Hello?" The form was perfectly still, slumped slightly to one side, possibly in pain. Olivia continued, as she stepped forward, "I'm Olivia Dunham, I'm with the FBI, and this is Doctor Walter Bishop. Are you hurt?" She flipped on the flashlight, beam angling from glass and marble to land of the figure. It twitched in the light, turning toward them.

She wore a greying nurse's uniform, starched angles frayed from blood and ash. Her legs were long and shapely, one of them broken, bone piercing her running hose. It crunched horridly as she moved, her face lifting to the light. No, face wasn't right, as there wasn't one to begin with, it looked as if had been pulled off, and her head twisted shut, a mass of mottled, pale flesh stretched over the mandibles of her jaw, clicking as it worked.

She took a step forward, seeming transfixed by the light, and Olivia and Walter recoiled with horror. But they had been too horrified to hear the other nurses approaching them from behind, and Walter gave a yelp as one brushed his shoulders, "Walter!" Olivia cried, turning.

Walter let out another horrified cry, as he was pressed back against the wall, swathed in pale limbs and broken fingers he struggled to lift his pipe, as bodies smashed against him, "Olivia!" he wailed. He thrashed as best he could, but he was being overwhelmed.

"Where the hell are they coming from?" Olivia hissed, raising the crowbar and starting forward. But as swiftly as she could reach the heaving mass, they shed away, into the shadows, and Walter was gone. She stood alone in the hallway, flashlight beam cutting through the growing darkness as distantly, a siren began to wail, "Walter!"

xXx


	11. Chapter 11

_Thank you, 'Just a Reader', for correcting my numeric blunder, sorry 'bout that._

Chapter Eleven.

More heat. Olivia picked a direction and ran.

The soles of her boots were made of 70% recycled rubber, and they were melting and sticky, now. The rest of her clothing steamed as the rain water escaped, clinging to her limbs as she moved. The marble floor had somehow crumbled to give way to steel mesh and boiler plating, and she was terrified that at any moment the steel would give away, dropping her into the hot, dull glow beneath. Ash flittered about like a snow globe, brushing her face like moth wings as she sprinted, calling again, "Walter!" Something about the world around her had grown so loud, it was hard to hear her own cry.

Melted plastic ran down the walls in long, globby strings, boiling and sizzling into dust as it met the floor. The flashlight leapt away from her hip and Olivia scrambled for it, her fingertips only brushing it before in struck the steel and splintered, pieces scatting across the floor before jointing the back plastic ooze slowly bubbling and dripping out of site. She cursed and stumbled to a halt, the last of the steam of her clothing whisping away like a ghost to be swallowed up by the heat.

She had chosen the right direction. The hulking, dark form of the helmeted creature from the hotel lumbered forward, his skin splotched with red, angry burns and slashes. He limped, as he drug his long, cruel blade with him, jagged angles perforating the steel as he went. He paused, now, his helmet angling back and fourth, as if searching for her.

Olivia's next breath burned in her throat, as she chanced a sidelong glance to an empty doorway, heat blurring the edges of the ingress. It was all she had. With a last look back at the cage-headed beast, she made for the room. Inside was stiflingly hot, small, cluttered with an oversized hospital bed, overturned. She scrambled over it, wedging herself behind the cover of a ruined chair, hugging her knees to her chest and clutching her crowbar tightly.

The noise around her appeared to have vanished quite suddenly, and his footsteps were somehow perfectly clear; _thump, scrape, thump. Thump, scrape, thump. Thump, scrape, thump._ It was almost the rhythm of her pulse, now, growing louder and closer. But her heart seemed to seize in her chest, when she knew he had stopped before the doorway.

_Thump. Thump._ Silence. Had that been her pulse? It was so hard to tell, her head was throbbing with pain.

_Scraaaaaaape._

Something inside her shoulder _moved_. Olivia had to slap her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming, as her skin was separated from her muscle in a sick ripping noise. She swallowed down her whimpering as her shoulder moved again, her scab tearing open and blood beginning to seep down her back, drying her shirt to her skin in the thick heat. It felt as if something were chewing and clawing as it drove itself deeper into her shoulder, and Olivia squeezed her eyes shut, uncontrolled tears of pain blurring her vision.

_Thump._ "Olivia?" He rasped, his voice a deep whisper, like death rattle.

Olivia's eyes sprang open in horror, the pain of her wound momentarily forgotten as realization settled her wild thoughts, killing them with a chilling shiver that trembled her entire body, her pores boiling with sweat. Acid dried the back of her throat.

_Thump, scrape, thump. Thump, scrape, thump_.

It was Peter.

xXx

Exhaustion was a strange thing. Pure, dead exhaustion, where her thoughts and movements slurred together only to be separated by pure, instinctual feelings; thirst, hunger, cold, ache. Her shoulder had stopped behaving strangely after He had gone; taking the heat with him, but still her wound throbbed and burned, as if infected. Perhaps she could find Walter, and he could look at it.

She no longer called out for Walter, she hadn't in the fear that He might return. She merely continued onward, now, shivering in the cold fog that had returned, as quietly as she could manage, methodically checking each room, pausing if she heard a noise, perhaps not as carefully as she should have.

Olivia could not recall when or why she fell, only how badly her skin itched and burned; her shoulder was on fire, and she let out a small cry as she shifted, trying to rise, and her shirt tugged away from the wound, a strange, musky smell filling her nostrils. Something inside the gash moved again, and she tensed with dull pain, too exhausted to utter protest. Her slow shuffling made her appear as a crushed bug on a window, dragging her limbs about feverishly, slower and slower.

"Nurse."

Olivia heard her breath escape her lips in a whisper, feeling a warm touch on her cheek, "Walter," she murmured, shutting her eyes.

"Nurse, this patent appears to have gotten lost. Please escort her back to her room, and see that she is comfortable."

"Walter, what are you...?" She suddenly felt arms wrapping around her, lifting her, moving her. Her shoulder throbbed, and she mustered a sobbing cry, "Walter!"

"I'll be in to examine her shortly." His blue eyes were dark, no shine of mirth or warmth in them. She only knew him from his voice, his face had changed so much, "Until I arrive, please sedate her."

Her head was cocked against the pillows at a strange angle; her arm under her had fallen asleep, feeling cold and foreign. She curled her fingers against the linens to be sure they were still her own.

"Scalpel."

Her head felt foggy and thick, and her nose was running. She instinctively moved to wipe her lip, but found she could not. Instead, her eyes eased open a sliver, too dull to squint in the glare of the operating lights.

Steel hit steel, and Walter uttered another command, behind his mask, "Forceps. Hold that open. Yes, just like that."

There was a long, pulling sensation, in her shoulder, as if he were pulling out the muscle, when he applied the long, steel tweezers to her open shoulder. Otherwise, she felt nothing.

Walter stilled, his eyes widening behind his thick framed magnifying lenses, "Dear god," His eyes did not leave his task as he demanded, "A jar, give me a jar."

A shill chattering filled the air, high-pitched screaming, as the large beetle struggled under the grip of the forceps, jagged limbs trembling and feeling the air for grip, ash color darkened to black under the tint of the blood, "A jar!" Walter demanded, using both hands to hold the insect at bay. Needle-like pincers nipped at him as it continued to scream.

A faceless nurse hurried to hold up a yellowed glass Mason jar, and Walter plunged the thing inside, pinning it against the bottom of the jar as he scrambled with the lid. He withdrew the forceps and clapped the jar shut, the beetle leaping to get out, screaming muted, and he twisted down the lid quickly, peering inside. The insect shivered the blood free of its four wings, and he breathed "Incredible."

_How corny_, Olivia thought blurrily, _it's like some b-rated horror film. Like the ones Astrid and Walter watch, in the lab at three in the morning. A bug? How is that scary? How did it even live in that girl's shoulder?_

And she could almost hear Walter telling Astrid, _It's possible. Insects search out food and shelter, good places to lay their eggs. When it hatched, it would have eaten her muscle tissues and burrowed in deeper and deeper, until the infection was too sever and the host started to die._

_Assuming it only laid a single egg._

Walter was watching her now, as the small, drugged-up smile slid back and fourth across her face, and his eyes looked more like his own now; grave and full of sadness, "You shouldn't have seen that," he said, and removed his eyes from hers, "Nurse, more morphine."

xXx

Olivia awoke as if from a nightmare, and for a few, fleeting seconds, she wondered if it had been- if she would be warm and safe, now, with Walter holding her and Peter laughing at her awkwardness from the doorway.

It was not.

The roof above her was discolored plasterboard, frilly rings of water damage like bad camouflage, and the overhead lights were naked of covers, bulbs cataract white and specked with grey, long burnt out. It was the same brightness as when she had fallen in the hall- how long had she been unconscious? Did it matter? Did time even pass, in this place?

Her breathing was lighter now, Olivia realized, and she shifted to sit up, her shoulder and chest tight with bandages, under her tattered tee shirt. Her jacket was draped on a nearby chair, her boots at her bedside. She was leaning out to gather them when a figure appeared in the doorway, and she froze.

The nurse shambled forward, arms outstretched, and Olivia searched about wildly for her crowbar, finding nothing, and she tried to scramble backward, before her shoulder gave weakly and she found herself sprawled out on the bed once more, struggling to rise.

Grey arms pinned her down, freakishly strong as dirty nails dug into her skin, and Olivia strained away from the horrifyingly blank visage that loomed over her own, shifting to kick before another seemed to appear amidst the commotion, gabbing her legs, "Walter!" she found herself calling.

The nurses stilled.

"What in the world is going on here?" Someone demanded from the doorway, and the nurses' heads whipped around, necks cracking at the unnatural motion, "Unhand that woman immediately, she is a patient in my charge."

The two creatures released her almost immediately, straightening and shuffling away. They stood nearly at attention as they faced Walter, heads tilted, awaiting his command.

Walter's hands were in the pockets of his stained lab coat, and he was frowning crossly, "Out." he nodded his head backward, "Allow us to convene privately, if you would. Find some more bandages or something, make yourself useful." And they limped out.

Olivia only gaped from the bed, "Walter... what the hell is going on?"

"How are you feeling?" Walter asked as he shut the door, "I'm sorry for the fright, I fear that I have to be strict, with a staff like this..."

"What are you talking about? What are those things?" Walter sat at her bedside, taking the sides of her face in his fingertips to peer into her eyes.

He smiled, "To be perfectly honest, I have no idea. I think they fancy themselves nurses, if I'm not mistaken. And they seem to be entirely useless, without a doctor to give them orders."

"You?" Olivia questioned in disbelief, "They... they _listen _to you?"

"Sometimes. I have to be strict with them, but they're sweet girls," Walter moved to begin pulling down the collar of her shirt, checking her shoulder.

Olivia thought back to the way they moved and clicked, and rubbed her bruised wrists with a wry smile, "Sweet girls, huh?"

Walter paused, and a small blush touched his face, "They're busty, too," he added with a wink and a grin that made his face look even dirtier.

She couldn't tell him about Peter.

"I think it would be best," Walter continued, raising a hand to touch her forehead with his wrist, "if you addressed me as 'Dr. Bishop', for the time being. I know it seems strange, but the girls seem to be of the jealous type, and I think it would be safer if they continued to believe that I had no concern to your condition other than professional."

"Alright," Olivia responded.

"As far as I can tell, you're doing well. The infection is gone, and your fever seems to have broken. I cleaned your shoulder as best I could, and that bandage should hold you at least a little while. I'm gathering a few supplies, and when you're feeling well again, we should be able to set off in rescuing Peter."

Olivia swallowed, and nodded, "What about something to clear our heads?"

Walter shook his head sadly, "There was nothing. It seems we have only out wits to keep us- meaning I'll need you at top performance to get us out of here alive, agent Dunham."

xXx


End file.
